


The Weight of Us

by aintashes (graysn)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mild Gore, Slow Burn, and everything is fine, as in walkers and animal death, in which the saviors havent found the hilltop or alexandria, slow burn daryl dixon/jesus, soft relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 19:24:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15150158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graysn/pseuds/aintashes
Summary: Daryl remembers the day Jesus took them to the Hilltop for the first time. He remembers sitting in those historic rooms on dusty chairs, debating with his people and with the Hilltop’s representatives what the best course of action would be between their peoples. Their resulting agreement tied their colonies together inextricably: the Hilltop’s supplies for Alexandria’s protection, and vice versa. Since then, Daryl has seen Jesus every single week. And every week, the feeling in his gut becomes harder and harder to ignore.THE WEIGHT OF US, A slow burn Daryl/Jesus story.





	1. Unexpected Delivery

The rough rattle of the main gate opening is drowned out almost immediately by the sound of the supply truck rolling into Alexandria, driven by two Hilltop residents. As they park the truck and the gate closes, Daryl takes a short glance at the sky and then the ground, observing the position of the sun and the way his own shadow is cast across the cement to determine what time of day it must be. They’re right on schedule, he thinks. Just like they always are. Maybe even a little early. That’s good: that means everything to do with their arrangement is running smoothly, despite the difficulties their two communities face regarding successful communication over such a large distance.

Daryl rests his hands on his hips, watching while the two from the Hilltop climb down from the cab to help unload.

Hopefully their cargo is even better than their promptness.

Heading around to the back of the truck, Daryl waits for them to open it up, pen and paper ready to jot down the inventory. For a moment, he catches himself wondering where Jesus is: usually, he’s the one who conducts these supply exchanges for the Hilltop, as their scout and representative. Must be off doing something else, he thinks. Maybe he’s out scouting another supply route, or gathering more survivors. Maybe something went wrong, and that’s why he’s not here. But if something went wrong, shouldn’t Alexandria know about it?

Daryl stops himself cold, and questions his own mind as to why he cares what Jesus might be doing other than this. He’s not the guy’s mother, after all. Why should he care so much, as long as shit gets done? And what if something did happen to him? That wouldn’t be Daryl’s problem. A loss for the community, surely, but not his problem.

But then, to his bewilderment, the very man he was just trying not to think of rolls up the overhead door and hops out of the back of the truck, all smiles, as usual, and it seems that Paul Rovia will always find a way to surprise him.

“Daryl,” he grins in greeting as their eyes meet. The bowman feels his fingers start to fidget with the pen in his hand, eager to get this over with. He doesn’t hate Jesus. Far from it, really. He's a great help around the community, he can take care of himself, he's a great supply runner... Daryl has even accompanied him and some others on runs before, and Jesus is even great working in groups. But there’s just something about him that doesn’t sit comfortably in the bowman's stomach, and after this unexpected appearance, Daryl is on edge.

“It’s good to see you,” Paul continues, brushing himself off. “Sorry, it’s a little less than last time– we’re not having the same turnout with our crops, and, well… the number of mouths to feed between all of us has only grown.” Jesus pauses a moment, somehow able to sense that Daryl is somewhat uncomfortable, though he doesn’t understand why. Then again, Daryl Dixon never truly looks completely comfortable: there’s always tension in his shoulders. Always a confident sort of wariness in his eyes, as if he has every reason in the world to be so skeptical of everyone around him.

“I trust that Maggie is still trying to get your crops going?” Jesus asks this only to try and strike up some kind of conversation rather than to get an answer. He knows Daryl isn’t the most talkative of the Alexandrians, but he must admit even he grows tired of having to do all of the talking for the both of them. “I wouldn’t want anyone going hungry, if I can help it.”

“Mhm.” Daryl nods a little as he looks down at his list, making a note in the margin as he avoids Paul’s gaze. “S’gettin’ better. Should be able t’get some to the Hilltop next week.”

Daryl remembers the day Jesus took them to the Hilltop for the first time, that big, old mansion looming over the settlement as a giant might, its many windows seeming to watch your every move like ever-open eyes. He remembers sitting in those historic rooms on dusty chairs, debating with his people and with the Hilltop’s representatives what the best course of action would be between their peoples. Their resulting agreement tied their colonies together inextricably: the Hilltop’s supplies for Alexandria’s protection, and vice versa. Since then, Daryl has seen Jesus every single week. And every week, the feeling in his gut becomes harder and harder to ignore.

“There’s a basket full’a medicine for Carson in the infirmary,” Daryl adds after a long moment of silence, and Paul only gives him a small smile, taking that as his cue to leave him be.

He’s always found it rather charming that Daryl gets so easily flustered. Maybe one day, they’ll actually be able to have a nice conversation.

But, Jesus isn’t holding his breath.

\- - - -

“He said their crops ain’t comin’ in too good,” Daryl says as Rick flips through the inventory, checking to see what came in from the drop. “It ain’t too bad, though. Still got plenty in the pantry t’last us for now.”

“And they took the medicine?” Rick asks, to which Daryl gives a silent nod. “Good.” He hands the list back to Daryl. “I want you t’go out, see if you can find anything to fill the freezer with. Squirrel, boar, deer– it doesn’t matter to me, we just need something. You need anybody?”

To this, Daryl shakes his head. He prefers to work alone, and he knows that Rick is aware of that, and is only asking as a formality. A _just in case._ He appreciates the thought. “Nah, m’good. I’ll go in the mornin’, see what I can see.” What he can see, however, might not be much. There's a reason he stopped hunting in this area: the animal population has dwindled so much since the start of all of this that hunting with any sort of frequency for as many people as they have would extinguish their food source almost immediately. But, with food storage at the beginning stages of depletion, it's a risk they're going to have to take to save their people from potential starvation. A last resort.

Daryl says goodbye to Judith on his way out the door, giving the young girl a gentle pat on the top of her curly haired head.

\- - - -

Truly, the bowman thought that the moment his back hit his mattress, he'd be fast asleep. After such a long day, his feet aching and his body sore, all he wants to do is get some well-needed rest. But his mind is elsewhere, full of all sorts of things, from his plan of action concerning his hunt in the morning to one very specific individual.

His thoughts about Jesus have kept him awake for at _least_ an hour, eyes open and staring either at the ceiling or toward his bedroom window. He isn't even sure why he's thinking of him, or what he's thinking about, in particular: just that his thoughts are being consumed by his image, and his voice. He rolls over, onto his stomach, forcing his eyes to close and stay closed. But no matter how hard he tries, no matter how relaxed he attempts to make his breathing, rest does not come to his troubled mind.

Daryl pretends he got some sleep that night.


	2. Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl goes hunting at Rick's request and receives a rather unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the feedback on the last chapter! It is, of course, much appreciated.
> 
> And thank you so much to the brilliant lovesdaryl, who proves consistently that I am incredibly lucky to have such a great beta reader! ❤︎

The soil beneath Daryl’s fingers is freshly disturbed, trod through no more than twenty minutes ago by what looks to be the wild boar he’s been tracking for the past hour. He’d thought he’d lost the trail earlier, truth be told, but it’s close now– it _must_ be. Daryl pushes himself back to his feet, hoisting his crossbow back up into his arms, ready to go. This could be exactly what they need: a big, full grown boar to fill Alexandria’s freezer, enough to feed every family in their community for at least one night. Maybe two, if they stretch it thin.

By no means is it a solution to their problem, but it is, at the very least, something to take the hard edge off of their situation. Daryl chews on his lower lip, thoughts rolling over in his mind. He wants to be the person to provide some relief for his people, and if he can’t get this boar, or anything else, he knows he’ll have a hard time walking back through the gate empty-handed.

Carefully, he follows the fresh tracks, sharp eyes darting to the sides every so often and ears on the alert to make sure he’s truly alone out here. For a while, it’s just him and the birds overhead, singing their chorus. It isn’t until the rather distinct sound of a twig snapping catches his attention that he turns around, bow lifted to his shoulder, ready to fire into the face of whomever or whatever it is that’s behind him.

To say that he’s shocked to see Jesus standing there, hands up with that stupid smile on his face, is a gross understatement.

“The hell are you doin’?” he asks gruffly, glaring hard as he lowers his weapon and removes his finger from the trigger. His heart is beating wildly in his ribcage. Enough that he can feel it thumping in his ears and his chest. “I could’a _shot_ you.”

“And I’m sure anyone else would have,” Jesus replies smoothly, gradually allowing his arms to fall back to his sides.

Daryl resists the urge to roll his eyes, to walk away – to do something too brash. “Why’re you even out here?” He asks, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. “You _followin’_ me?”

“Truthfully?” Jesus grins. Daryl can feel his stomach churning. “I heard you had gone hunting, and I came to keep you company. Rick said you didn’t need any help, but it must get pretty dull and lonely out here, all by yourself.”

Daryl has to pause, lips just barely parted as he mulls over what Paul is telling him. Company? Daryl’s never had company while hunting. What he does is a duty, an art form, and one he enjoys. There’s no company to be had: either you’re helping by hunting and tracking alongside him, or you’re a hinderance.

“Don’t need no company.” He looks at the ground, gaze moving to find those tracks again. “I usually hunt alone.”

“You don’t get bored?” Jesus asks almost immediately, taking a small step forward as Daryl observes the dirt and leaves beneath their feet. It’s amazing to him that the hunter can pick out tracks in all of that mess. A great talent, indeed, especially these days. “Don’t you ever want someone to talk to?”

“Ain’t no talkin’ in huntin’.”

Jesus’ ever-present smile slowly fades. He has to remind himself that Daryl takes this job seriously– that it’s not because he dislikes Jesus that he’s being so short with him. But, is that even true? Does Daryl even see him as anything more than another Hilltop resident? Does he only _tolerate_ Jesus’ existence, rather than enjoy it?

“I see,” he says softly. “I won’t talk, then. Scout’s honor.”

Daryl stops and looks back at Jesus for a long moment, almost frozen as he slowly comes to accept that he’s not leaving, but rather, has invited himself along for the ride in a strange new development. Nobody has ever truly wanted to accompany him on a trip like this before– Daryl imagines it’s too boring and technical for anyone who doesn’t also hunt, or anyone who doesn’t want to learn, but he’s okay with that. Surely, Paul doesn’t really want to spend this much time in only Daryl’s silent company.

So why _does_ he want to come?

Without another word, Daryl turns around again and returns to following the boar’s trail through the trees and the underbrush. If Jesus wants to tag along, then fine. As long as he doesn’t start running his mouth, things should go exactly as planned.

As it turns out, Jesus is pretty good at keeping promises. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t make any excess noise that might attract attention or scare away potential game, and he even seems somewhat interested, always taking the time to watch. He thinks about offering to teach him how to track, but then he remembers how they got into this situation, how Jesus followed him from home, and he shoves the idea to the back of his mind.

It’s a short time later that Daryl sees movement. He holds up his hand, signaling for Jesus to stop where he is. Through the thicket, he can just barely make out the boar’s hind legs lying flat on the ground. It must be resting, he thinks, granting him the perfect opportunity. Weapon up and prepared to fire, Daryl edges around a tree, finger inching closer and closer to the trigger as the boar gradually comes into view. But now, Daryl realizes that the whole picture is a much different story: lying there in the dirt, the boar seems to be barely clinging to life as a walker devours its throat, rendering it unable to squeal.

When it sees him, the walker drops the gore it’s holding and stumbles upright. Daryl considers dropping his bow and taking it down with his bare hands for killing his boar, but then he remembers that Jesus is right behind him, and something about that fact stills his hands. Instead, he pulls the trigger, sending a bolt straight into its wrinkled, decomposing face.

He walks over to it after it falls, jaw clenched tight. Daryl’s fingers wrap around his bolt and he yanks it out of the walker’s skull; and then, because there’s so much rage building up inside of him, so much guilt that he won’t be bringing this boar home to his people, Daryl lifts his foot and smashes the heel of his boot through that stupid, ugly, diseased head. It almost makes Jesus flinch, but at this point he knows better.

“Daryl,” he begins calmly, but stops altogether when the hunter shoots him an intense look that suggests he might take the rest of his anger out on Jesus if he says the wrong thing. “Is there any way we can look for another one? You found this one, I’m sure you could–”

“Look at the sky, asshole,” Daryl interrupts him, pointing straight up. “S’gonna be dark ‘fore I can even pick up another set of tracks. S’over.”

Jesus watches as the hunter slings his crossbow over his shoulder and then starts walking back the way they came, right past him. “Where are you going?” he asks, going after him. “Daryl?”

“Home.” He keeps walking, fidgeting with the bolt in his hands. “I told you, it’s done.”

“Daryl, come on–”

Daryl growls, stopping to turn and look back at Jesus. “It’s _done._ ” He lets that sink in for a short moment before he continues on his way, shouting over his shoulder. “M’goin’ back. You wanna stay out here ‘n’ keep lookin’ for dead meat, be my fuckin’ guest.”

Jesus only watches him go, heart sinking.


	3. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesus has to stay the night at Daryl's house. Daryl hates sleepovers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And thank you to the amazing lovesdaryl, my beta reader! ❤︎

It’s going to rain.

Daryl can feel the moisture in the air, mixing with the arid summer heat to form a weighty cover of humidity that sticks to his skin. He looks at the sky, watching as puffy white clouds skate by on the breeze, no doubt dragging heavy rain clouds behind them.

Daryl’s gaze moves from the clouds to Alexandria’s garden. It’s been weeks since his first failed hunt. Weeks since their food storage began to slowly deplete. Maggie sits in the soil on her knees, hands meticulously tending to their vegetables. She works without pause. One of Glenn’s baseball caps is keeping the sun from her eyes.

The rain will be good for the crops, at the very least.

Making his way over to her, Daryl pulls the canteen from his hip, tapping it gently against her arm. Finally, she looks up from what she’s doing, squinting through the sunlight to smile at him for a moment before taking the offer. “How’s it comin’?” he asks, taking the water back once she’s had her fill and taking a gulp of it himself.

“Could use another pair of hands, if you wanna spread the word.” Maggie stands up, stretching her legs and resting her hands on her hips. “It’s comin’. We have more now than we used to. Just gotta keep gettin’ it right, and we’ll be fine. What about you? How’s the game out there?”

Daryl hesitates a moment, making a low noise. Lately, he’s been able to pull in more food for their people, but who knows how long that will last? “S’alright. Just dunno if the population will hold. Might have t’go lookin’ someplace else.”

She gives him an understanding nod. They’re both being trusted to put food on the table for their communities, which is no easy task even when they do have enough food to last them. Right now, they can only hope that they’re making the right choices. “Well I oughta get back to it,” she says, kneeling down once again. Softly, almost as if to herself, she adds: “I think it might rain today.”

He leaves her to it then, gradually making his way up toward the infirmary. On the days where Daryl isn’t scheduled for perimeter duty or for a supply run, he always stops by to see if Denise needs any help. Most of the time she has him organize and prepare supplies, or she’ll ask him to assist her in tidying up the space. But when he enters the front hall, he finds the infirmary to be empty of both Denise and any patients. Even calling out to her yields no response. So, he steps back outside – and just in time to see the front gate sliding open and Rick moving to greet whomever it is on the other side.

Curious, especially because he was not made aware of any scheduled visits for today, Daryl heads toward the gate. When it’s only Jesus with no truck and no group, he knows immediately that it’s an informational visit: correspondence between their communities that needs to be quick and uninhibited, for which Paul is the best choice. He’s slippery, nearly undetectable, and always manages to arrive on time and without a hair out of place.

Sometimes Daryl wonders how he does it. Most of the time, he chalks it up to pure luck. But none of them are _that_ lucky.

As he gets closer, he can hear Jesus talking to Rick, voice smooth and even – like he hadn’t just walked all the way from the Hilltop. “... don’t know how it happened,” Jesus says. “We’re having Doctor Carsen look into it.”

“Look into what?” Daryl asks as he enters the conversation, hands resting on his hips. “One of our cows,” Jesus explains as he turns to look at him. The breeze is strong, whipping his hair away from his face. “She’s sick. We don’t know what happened, and we don’t want it spreading to the other animals as much as we don’t want to feed it to our people or yours. Doctor Carsen said he’d do his best, but he’s never worked with animals before.”

“Maggie has,” Rick interjects. “Her father was a veterinarian. I’ll...” he trails off, looking off at the horizon. Jesus and Daryl both follow his gaze to the dark, massive clouds slowly rolling into view. Rain is already tumbling from them, like a gray sheet slowly blanketing everything beneath it. The wind becomes stronger then, bringing along with it the wet petrichor of a summer storm. Daryl turns to Paul. “Looks like that cow’s gonna have t’wait.”

Rick nods a little in agreement. “Looks like it is. Nobody’s goin’ out there with a storm like that comin’ in. That means you too, Jesus.”

The man in question actually looks a little surprised, Daryl notices, but Rick goes on. “We’ll find you a place to stay for the night. When the storm passes, you and Maggie can go back to the Hilltop first thing to take a look at that cow. Daryl–” he pauses, looking at the hunter, “do you mind if he stays with you?”

Something inside of Daryl clenches tight. He knows why Rick is asking: Daryl is the only one who lives in a house by himself anymore, the other homes occupied to full capacity. It’s only fair that he sacrifice the space for one night, rather than having Paul sleep on someone’s couch.

“It’s okay,” Jesus says before Daryl can even answer, but the bowman interrupts. “Nah,” he shakes his head. “S’fine. I got the space.”

“A’right then,” Rick nods. “I’ll let Maggie know.”

And just like that, Rick is off, leaving the two of them to handle themselves. Daryl is quiet for a long moment before he turns and starts walking, his mind whirring into action. They’re both silent as Jesus follows him through the neighborhood.

Daryl is struggling to come to terms with two things: one, that there’s going to be someone else staying in his home for the night; and two, that the person staying in his house tonight is _Jesus,_ of all people. As they round the bend and follow the path to his place, Daryl tries to put those thoughts on the backburner, no matter how much his gut is churning.

Somehow Daryl’s house embodies him, a little unrefurbished two-story sitting in the far back of Alexandria. It’s a stark contrast to the white picket fence aesthetic of the houses around it, offering a much more homely and simple down-to-earth vibe; and Jesus is sure that’s the exact reason Daryl picked it.

But the most striking resemblance between Daryl’s house and Daryl himself comes when the hunter leads him inside. The living space is small and leads directly into the kitchen, where old wooden cabinets hang above linoleum countertops. Dated furniture sits in front of an old television that’s not even plugged in, and books and empty mugs litter the coffee table. There’s a clear space on the table, which he can tell is probably where Daryl puts his feet up when he reads.

An ashtray holding several cigarette butts sits on the side table next to a cushy recliner, which explains where the barely-there smell of smoke is coming from. Not that he minds that scent all too much – it reminds him of Daryl specifically, and for some reason it makes the house even more cozy to him.

“Sorry,” Daryl mutters, reaching over to shove the books to the corner of the coffee table and to pick up the used mugs, taking them to the kitchen to put them in the sink. “Wasn’t expecting company.”

“That’s alright.” Jesus smiles. “It’s lived-in mess. Not too messy, but not immaculate. It’s comfortable.”

Daryl says nothing in response as he rinses off the dishes, leaving them to soak while he goes to his fridge. Jesus watches him as he pulls out some wrapped meat, setting it on the counter and then grabbing a few potatoes that must have been from Maggie’s garden. Daryl glances over his shoulder before he begins to prepare the potatoes. “Won’t take me long,” he says just loudly enough for Paul to hear, and it’s now that he realizes that Daryl is making food for _both_ of them.

Smiling to himself, Jesus walks slowly into the kitchen behind him, leaning back against the wall farthest away from Daryl in order to give him ample space. He says nothing as the hunter chops both the potatoes and the meat into cubes, scooping them all into a pan and placing them on one of the electric burners on his stove.

“You didn’t have to make me anything.” Jesus finally breaks the silence. “More for me then,” Daryl mumbles, and Jesus grins because he knows he doesn’t mean it.

As the ingredients sizzle in the pan, Jesus looks out the window, watching as the sky turns from blue to a hazy orange, and then gradually darker and darker until the sun has set completely.

When the food is done cooking and seasoned to his liking, Daryl takes it off of the stove and separates it into two bowls. He brings out two forks, setting one of them next to one of the bowls and keeping the other one as he takes the other bowl into the living room with him wordlessly. Jesus takes his share, following.

Daryl sits in his recliner, eyes focused on the food in his hands. Jesus sits on the couch, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back, allowing his body some much-needed relaxation. It’s not every day he gets to just sit down and eat with someone: normally, he’s either out on runs when he eats, or he’s alone in his trailer. And though they’re eating in silence, for some reason Jesus finds it peaceful instead of awkward.

“Thank you,” he says after he’s finished his meal, setting his bowl on the coffee table. “That was great.”

Daryl doesn’t say anything, fingers fidgeting with the empty bowl in his hands as he nods his acknowledgement. He’s not good at these kinds of interactions, always tongue-tied and too unsure of everything to really relax and be himself. Especially around someone like Jesus: somehow, Daryl feels like those piercing eyes can see right through him, the smile he always wears pushing up some kind of clustered, awkward feeling in the hunter’s chest. He doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like being this _confused_ about one person, when in every other situation he’s able to read people and their intentions like open books.

Jesus is a mystery to him. A mystery he can’t ever seem to solve.

It’s this strange feeling that pushes him to stand, bringing all of the dishes to the sink and setting them on top of the others. “There’s a spare room upstairs,” Daryl finally speaks as he’s making his way back into the living room and toward the stairs. “First door on the right.”

And just like that, he’s gone, retiring to his room. Jesus just sits there for a long moment, taking everything in.

In truth, he doesn’t know whether to take Daryl’s standoffish behavior as awkwardness or as evidence that he dislikes him. Was he only being cordial in making dinner for the two of them? Was it only because he wants to keep up the relationship between Alexandria and the Hilltop?

His lips press into a line and he stands, heading for the sink in the kitchen. It doesn’t take him long to wash the dishes, setting them neatly on a towel he’s placed on the counter to dry. It’s the least he could do, he thinks – Daryl was nice enough to offer him food, so he’ll tidy up. That’s how he’s always seen it, anyway.

Once he’s done in the kitchen, he turns off all of the lights and starts to slowly make his way upstairs, nimble feet doing their best to avoid making the old wood creak. When he makes it to the landing, he’s presented with three doors in a line, the first of which is open to reveal the spare bedroom Daryl spoke of. He smiles to himself, thinking that he must have left it ajar for Jesus.

But instead of going there first, curiosity gets the better of him, and he quietly pads to the second door, silently turning the knob and opening it just a crack. It’s dark inside, but he can see a sink – this is the bathroom, just as he’d figured it would be. He shuts it again, stepping back.

That means door number three is Daryl’s room.

Temptation prods him. For a moment, Jesus considers it. Maybe Daryl would actually be interested.

He shakes his head at himself. If Daryl were interested, he has to think that he’d be able to tell.

It’s now that the rain starts to fall, pattering against the side of the house and drumming against the windows, slowly at first before crescendoing into a chorus of sound.

Maybe another day.

In the morning, the door to the spare room is still open, just as Daryl had left it the night prior. He peeks inside, but finds that Jesus isn’t there. In fact, it’s like he never was: the bed is made, and not one item sits out of place. Daryl has to wonder if he even slept here last night.

Making his way downstairs, he heads into the kitchen to make himself some coffee, but pauses in front of the sink. Where he’d expected to see dirty dishes, the sink is completely empty, bearing no evidence that there was ever anything there in the first place. He opens one of the cabinets: sure enough, everything has been put away exactly where it belongs.

Daryl turns around, eyes searching to see if Paul is standing there grinning at him. When he realizes he’s alone, he grabs a mug, makes himself coffee, and sits in his recliner.

Somehow, his home has never felt as empty as it does right now.


	4. A New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl and Jesus go on a tension-filled run in order to find enough food to feed their communities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a bit of a longer chapter for you. Thank you to @bitterstolenrelic, who beta-read this chapter for me! And I'm so grateful to all of you for all of your patience and great feedback so far. I've been pretty busy with work and school lately, so I'm sorry this is so late! I hope you like it!

The room is tense as Maggie and Jesus make their way into Rick’s home, having just returned from attempting to treat the Hilltop’s cow. Rick and Michonne sit on the couch while Daryl stands by the window, arms crossed over his chest. Denise and Glenn sit at the nearby dinner table with their chairs turned to face the group. She knows they’re waiting for good news, the hope that she was able to save the cow filling the air and suffocating her. Their need for food is nearing dire now, their pantry down to simple rations. Taking a breath, her lips press thin. It’s enough to tell everyone exactly what they need to know.

“She was too far gone.” Maggie explains. Out of the corner of his eye, Daryl can see Rick hang his head, shaking it slowly. “An infection nothing we had could fix. We had to put her down and bury her.”

The room falls silent again. Beside her, Jesus clasps his hands together in front of himself, letting his gaze fall to the ground. Rick picks his head up slowly, taking it all in before standing, hands on his hips. “You tried,” he says calmly, addressing her as well as the rest of the room. “That’s all that matters. We’ll make do. We’ll find more food. We have before, we will again.” Rick’s gaze lands on Maggie and she smiles a little at him as Glenn comes over to her, taking her hand reassuringly in his.

“Daryl,” their leader continues as he turns to the hunter, “I’m sending you on a run today. There are a couple places we’ve scouted that might have something worthwhile. Take someone with you, use one of the cars, do whatever you need to do.”

“I’ll go,” Jesus pipes up suddenly, watching as Daryl’s gaze snaps to his face, almost as if he’s looking for reasoning behind those words. Jesus continues, speaking to Rick directly, instantly feeling as though he needs to prove something. “We work efficiently together, and I’m the one who scouted those places out. I know them better than anybody.”

“That’s perfect, then,” Rick gestures to Jesus before his hand returns to his hip. “Don’t waste any time. Get as far as you can before dark and work your way back starting tomorrow morning.”

Daryl uncrosses his arms and heads out, nodding to Rick as he breezes by Jesus, who follows him out as he makes his way back to his house to pack up. To his amazement, Jesus makes no attempt to talk to him the whole time.

Either way, Daryl doesn’t mind the silence.

Once they’ve got the things they need, Daryl leads them to the car they’ll be taking, wasting no time as he begins packing everything into the back seat and the trunk. It’s Michonne who comes by to send them off, holding a folded piece of paper in her hands as she approaches the hunter. “Be careful,” she starts off, handing him the paper, which he unfolds to reveal a map. “Jesus scouted these locations from a distance. We don’t know if there’s anyone inside, or if they’re dangerous.”

Daryl nods a little, folding the map back up and sticking it in his pocket for safekeeping. Michonne rests a hand on his arm for a moment, a tender goodbye, before she moves around to the other side of the car to speak with Jesus. Daryl can’t hear what they’re saying, but he doesn’t care too much to eavesdrop. As soon as she leaves, Daryl climbs into the driver’s seat and waits until Jesus is securely in the passenger seat before he starts the engine, rolling toward the front gates.

Rick pulls open the gate for them. He and Daryl exchange a wave as the car passes by.

As he watches from the passenger side of the car, Jesus wonders to himself how long Rick and Daryl have actually known one another. It has to have been a long while, he thinks, for them to be as close as they seem to be– for Rick to trust Daryl with the fate of their people like this. It just goes to show how good the hunter is; if he were part of the Hilltop instead, Gregory would surely send Daryl out on runs. Maybe even more often than he sends Jesus. Then again, he’s convinced that Gregory sees him as more of an unfortunate necessity than anything. Maybe if Daryl were there, he’d see no need for Jesus at all.

The thought makes his stomach drop.

Jesus collects his thoughts before they spiral too far downward. They’ve only been in the car for around ten minutes before he decides to say something.

“You never told me about your brother,” Jesus remarks, looking over at the hunter from the passenger seat.

“Huh?”

“Your brother.” Jesus reiterates with a smile. “You said you’d tell me about him, remember?”

Daryl does remember. Now that Jesus has mentioned it, at least. It was a while back, before Jesus came to tell them about Hilltop’s cow. Daryl was patrolling Alexandria’s perimeter when Jesus decided to strike up a conversation with him about something-or-other. He doesn’t remember how the conversation turned to his brother, but when it did, it was at the precise moment the scout was pulled away for a meeting with Rick. He’d made Daryl promise to tell him about Merle later.

Later, apparently, meant while they were trapped in the car together.

“Oh,” Daryl mutters. “Yeah.” He doesn’t say anything else for a long moment, thinking of how to begin. Jesus starts to think that maybe he isn’t going to say anything until he hears him sigh softly.

“Merle was an asshole to everyone, no matter who you were. Didn’t give a damn ‘bout nobody most days, ‘cause he jus’ wanted t’get drunk or high. He was in jail a lot, ‘specially when I was a kid. Always ready an’ lookin’ for a fight. Felt like he was always findin’ ways he could get ‘imself in deeper shit.” Daryl pauses. “He was a dick, but… he was my brother. An’ he was smart, too. Smarter than anyone ever gave ‘im credit for.”

He thinks back to the prison, to the moment he lost Merle and what more he could have done.

“Well, it sounds like he was one hell of a guy,” Jesus says, a little smile coming to his lips. His voice brings Daryl back to the present before he can get wrapped up in painful memories and what ifs.

“Yeah,” Daryl says softly. “Yeah, he was.” The feeling in his gut returns– the rolling in his stomach that he only feels when Jesus is around. And now, with nowhere to go to escape Jesus’ eyes, the hunter swallows hard and tries to think about the task at hand.

It’s quiet for a while after that. Any comments Jesus makes go largely ignored as Daryl focuses on the paved road ahead of them. Hint taken, the scout stops talking altogether.

Once they reach the farthest location on the map, Daryl pulls over to the side of the road, slowly allowing the car to roll onto the grass. He steers it in between a few trees for cover before he parks, pulling the keys from the ignition. They grab their gear and travel into the woods on foot.

“So, what’s the plan?” Jesus finally asks, walking behind Daryl.

“We’ll hit the place right up on the other side’a these woods here. Come back this way later, settle down for the night.” Daryl doesn’t even look behind him as he speaks, only walking forward, his mission clear. “Right,” Jesus says, looking at the ground for a moment. “It’s a gas station, isn’t it? Where we’re going?”

“Yeah.”

“... Okay.”

Jesus resigns himself to staring at the back of Daryl’s head as they walk. Between the silence in the car, and now this, something tells him the hunter would rather not have to try and keep up conversation.

Soon enough, the trees give way to another road that runs parallel to the one they’d taken to get there. On the other side is the gas station they’re looking for. It looks empty, dark inside except for the sunlight bleeding in through the windows. Cautiously, they advance.

Daryl takes the right side of the building and Jesus takes the left, both slowly creeping around the perimeter until they meet around the back. Once they’re sure the outside is clear, Daryl gestures wordlessly to the back door of the building. It sits just slightly ajar, as though someone left in a hurry– or entered and never made it back out. Jesus nods, getting into position. They’ll have to be careful.

Slowly, Daryl pushes the door open. It’s dark inside, and he realizes as soon as he steps foot into the room that it’s the back storage area. Jesus follows him in, immediately placing himself beside the hunter. Carefully, silently, they advance. There’s a room all the way to the left. Daryl motions for Jesus to check it out while he takes a look at the front of the building.

Doing as Daryl suggests, Jesus moves to the side room. As he enters, he notes that it’s some kind of office, a couple of filing cabinets sitting against the walls. His heart jumps into his throat as he sees something move out of the corner of his eye, and his weapon is already aimed and ready to shoot before he comes to see that the potential threat is a gurgling walker sitting in a chair in front of a black, dusty computer screen. It can barely move, he notices, slumped in the chair with barely one arm reaching out for him. Holstering his gun, Jesus pulls out his knife, taking the walker out with ease.

He exits the room just as Daryl comes back to get him. “Everything good?” He asks, to which Jesus nods. “Yeah, just one in there. You?”

“None,” Daryl says. “C’mon.”

The front of the gas station doesn’t hold much promise: the shelves look like they’ve been picked clean, only a few things left over here and there. Daryl goes behind the counter to check and see if there’s anything good enough to take, but he finds that even the register has been stripped of money, as though it would have any value in their world anymore.

Jesus gently kicks at a smashed box on the floor, giving a small sigh. “Well,” he begins, looking at the items he’s managed to grab, “there are a couple of cans of food, at least, and I found a flashlight that got dropped behind one of the shelves. That’s a start, right?”

When Daryl says nothing, only looking at more shelves, Jesus frowns a little. He feels compelled to say something, so he does.

“Maybe we’ll have more luck tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” Daryl finally responds. He picks up an empty carton that used to have cigarettes in it. “Maybe we’re shit outta luck.”

“Don’t say that,” Jesus steps toward him, brow pulling together at the sudden negativity coming from the hunter. “We’re going to find something good. We have to, for the people at home. This is only the first place we’ve tried, anyway. The other places are bound to have something in them.”

“Yeah.” Daryl shakes his head a little, dropping the carton. He knows they don’t always get that lucky, and that more likely than not, this entire trip will end up proving to be almost worthless. “Yeah.”

“We will, Daryl. I know we can make this work. All I’m asking is that you have a little faith.”

“You always talk this fuckin’ much?” Daryl asks, snapping as he finally looks at his teammate, who is clearly taken aback by the hostility. Jesus manages to collects himself quickly, however, even though he feels like his heart is aching in his chest.

Was it something he said? He was only trying to help– trying to lift Daryl’s spirits a little since their first trip was essentially a bust. He shouldn’t have to take the brunt of the hunter’s anger, though, no matter how disappointing their situation is right now, and he knows it.

“Did I _do_ something?” Jesus asks once he’s able to think straight. This is all so complicated: Daryl was so sweet and even funny the other night when Jesus slept over, so what’s changed? Trying to decipher the dichotomy between the Daryl he knew and the one standing before him is like having whiplash. “Is there some reason for you to hate me that I’m unaware of?”

Daryl can’t say anything for a long moment. If there’s one thing he knows for certain right now, it’s that he doesn’t hate Jesus. But for some reason, any time he’s around, something inside of Daryl sparks, and he can’t help but to lash out because of it. It’s a feeling that fights tooth and nail with the butterflies he always gets when he and Jesus are near one another. All at once, his red hot aggravation reaches a peak, and he’s close to boiling over when the look on Jesus’ face somehow brings him back down to earth.

“Nah. Forget it,” the hunter mumbles, shaking his head. His feelings are too confusing, too treacherous to navigate. He can’t do this right now. Not when their people are starving, and they’re running out of time.

“No,” Jesus responds immediately. “No. You can’t just talk to me like that and expect everything to be okay, Daryl. Did I say something you didn’t like? Did I do something to offend you? I’m– I’m trying to understand.”

“There ain’t nothin’ t’understand,” Daryl growls, unappreciative of the fact that Jesus is pushing the issue. “You didn’t do nothin’. Jus’–”

“Then why are you acting like I did?”

Daryl says nothing. Around them, the dust is beginning to settle again, previously disturbed by their rummaging.

“I just wanted to get to know you, Daryl. That’s all. But I can’t tell if you hate me just for existing, or if it’s something else.”

Underneath his ribcage, Jesus’ heart is thumping a mile per minute. He’s afraid Daryl might never want to talk to him again after this. Maybe he’ll leave him out here all alone, he thinks. Maybe he’ll go back to the car, and Jesus will have to make his own way back to the Hilltop. Still, he persists. Whatever happens can’t be any worse than this already is.

“So just tell me, Daryl. Please.”

The hunter’s gaze drops to the ground. The lump in his throat won’t let him speak. He knows he doesn’t hate Jesus. But if he doesn’t hate him, then why does he always get so aggravated and upset when he’s around? Why is Jesus’ presence alone enough to make him so uncomfortable? It’s like there’s something underlying– something deep in his mind that he has yet to realize about how he feels. Something he’s pushed down all this time.

Remorseful now that his temper has been calmed, Daryl searches his heart for the right words.

“... Sorry,” he finally says quietly, refusing to look up from the tile on the ground. He can feel the sweat on the back of his neck starting to slide down to his shoulders. “Didn’t mean t’make you feel like that. Won’t do it again.”

It’s almost like a switch has been flipped. Admittedly, Jesus is confused, but he doesn’t question it. Not right now, at least. “Thank you, Daryl,” he replies softly, grateful for the apology he truly wasn’t sure he’d get. “Let’s keep going.”

The air feels a little awkward now, but Jesus and Daryl decide quickly that returning to the car is the best idea for the night. The sun is reaching down toward the horizon, signaling the coming of the evening and turning the sky a vibrant orange. By the time they make it back, it’s almost completely dark.

Jesus breaks the quiet they’ve been keeping as they climb back into the car. “I’ll take the first watch,” he says, getting comfortable. “I’ve got too much on my mind to sleep, and I know you don’t get much sleep, anyway.”

“Nah,” Daryl shakes his head. “I’m good.”

“Daryl...” He smiles. “You always do things for other people. Why not let someone do something nice for you, just one time?”

Daryl can’t tell whether or not Jesus can see the redness on his cheeks and the tops of his ears, but he doesn’t want to find out. With a muttered “thanks,” he gracelessly pushes back his seat, trying to rest. The redness doesn’t go away until he’s asleep.

The morning starts slowly, but they’re back on the road before the sun has completely risen. Their first stop of the day is the main road of a tiny middle-of-nowhere town, which is lined on both sides with stores and houses. Daryl is sure it’s going to take them all day to search everything. When they get there, a corner store is the first stop on the list, but it turns into another bust.

Daryl is beginning to think they’re going to come back nearly empty-handed.

“Wait,” Jesus says out of the blue as they’re walking down the road to their next stop. “Daryl, wait– look.”

In a nearby plaza sits a truck, tucked away in the shadows in between stores. Immediately, they make their way over, and after ensuring that the area is secure, Daryl lifts the latch and lets the door slide upward to reveal what’s inside.

“Holy _shit._ ”

The truck is filled to the brim with food.

He and Jesus look at one another, and before Daryl can even think about saying anything, Jesus beats him to it. “I’m not going to steal it this time,” he grins. “I promise.”

When they roll into Alexandria with the truck, a crowd gathers almost instantaneously. As Daryl and Jesus uncover their find, it’s like they struck oil.

Rick claps his hand on Daryl’s shoulder and says something, but Daryl can’t claim to have heard what it was: all he’s focused on is Jesus standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, smiling at him. It’s only when the scout turns away from him that Daryl is able to turn his attention back to Rick.

He almost asks Jesus if he wants to spend the night again. It’s a long way back to the Hilltop after traveling so much with such little rest, after all.

Almost.

Before he gets the chance to ask, Jesus is already gone.

His house feels empty again that night, as if when Jesus left the first time, he took all of Daryl’s comfort with him.


End file.
